


Lucky Men

by Teland



Series: Other Paths [4]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: 1998, I Told Y'all It Was A Long Ride, M/M, yes still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-09-10
Updated: 1998-09-10
Packaged: 2020-12-02 00:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20948561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: Alex drops by to have a chat with Walter.





	Lucky Men

Walter Skinner was dreaming about a hanging. His own. The   
landscape was sere and bleeding more shades of beige than   
he'd ever thought he could distinguish. The stubbled, dusty   
men watching him had cold, dead eyes of a uniformly   
poisonous olive. Being hung was surprisingly painless, and,   
despite the breeze, he wasn't swinging. He didn't think he   
was that heavy....

Eight pairs of olivine eyes blinked twice, slowly and   
evenly.

For some reason, that was the absolute worst part of the   
whole experience, and he set about jerking his weight in an   
attempt to snap his own damned neck. 

"Stop that."

Abruptly, Walter realized that he wasn't asleep, though he   
certainly felt muzzy enough to be so.... Eight dusty,   
stubbled men resolved into one, not-so-dusty, but   
definitely stubbled Alex Krycek sitting crosslegged on the   
foot of his bed several feet away. He twisted his neck   
again, not so vehemently. Completely free.

His arms, on the other hand...

He looked up to find himself cuffed neatly and firmly to   
the braces he'd installed just inside the southeast corner   
of the ceiling. The manacles were fur-lined, the chains   
thick and strong. It had been a wilder, emptier time. 

Walter sighed. This was bound to be painful and   
embarrassing or, at the very least, tiresome.

"What do you want, Krycek?"

"Just a place to stay for the night, really. The land is   
dangerous these days."

"And you're in my apartment. Why?"

A moderately off-centered shrug. "Seemed like a good idea   
at the time."

Walter stared at Krycek for a long moment. The face was as   
placidly smooth and innocent as always. 

//Born liar.//

Walter shifted, pleased to find he didn't feel the   
slightest bit strained despite the awkward position. He   
enjoyed a moment of quietly smug pride that all those hours   
of weight-training had paid off before it occurred to him   
that his feet were firmly planted on a scuffed leather   
ottoman. It had originally gone with one of the world's   
most comfortable chairs, lost in the horrible Nephew   
Incident. Walter hadn't had the heart to ditch the ottoman,   
too. He tried to get his mind to choose one particular   
question to ask his apparent houseguest/captor, but   
couldn't quite get it to settle down and *go* with   
something.

It was irritating not to be able to feel irritable about   
it. He did his best to *glare* his questions at Krycek, but   
was morbidly sure he looked as bemused as he felt.

Surprisingly, Krycek didn't look nearly as self-satisfied   
as it seemed he should. 

"What? Oh, sorry. Don't worry about the muzziness, I   
slipped 5 mg of Ambien into your takeout. Mild as sleeping   
pills go, but I'm guessing you're pretty damned stoned   
right now."

Walter nodded and with a pleasantly nauseating roll he was   
back on the horse.... Horse. Somebody was supposed to smack   
the horse.

"Waaaalterrr..."

Well, that was something Krycek had never been allowed to   
call him. Even when they were... whatever they had been.   
Back in the saddle, as it were. 

"Why... why did you...?"

The words *felt* nice rolling off his thick tongue, but....   
Walter decided Krycek hadn't been telling him the whole   
truth about just what he'd been dosed with. Perhaps to get   
him to try to escape so Krycek could beat him. Of course,   
the younger man could have killed him easily already,   
but.... The idea that the headache he was developing was   
far too muffled in inebriation to be bothersome was an   
item of unique horror.

"The ottoman?"

Walter blinked in a way he sincerely hoped implied the   
affirmative.

"Well, I really didn't want you to be uncomfortable..."

The words were allowed to dangle in the chill, air-  
conditioned room for a while. Krycek continued to stare, a   
flat ophidian stare that gradually developed a small   
measure of discomfort. The younger man appeared to be   
worried about something. 

"You've never taken any sleeping pills, have you?"

Walter decided it was a bad idea to shake his head.

"Shit. Well, it's probably a very good idea for you to   
talk. Don't move too much, just talk. Get it out. You   
already slept for...." A moment while the younger man   
checked his watch. "About five hours. You should start   
getting *relatively* sober, soon."

"All right." The... serenity... was a trial. "Why are you   
here?"

"I already told you, I needed a place to stay."

Walter sighed. "So you chose here. Despite everything."

Krycek nodded, smirked. "You could say *because* of   
everything. The last time wasn't so bad, once you got those   
punches out of your system--"

"And you couldn't just let me sleep it off while you did...   
whatever it was you're here to do?"

"Sleep. And I did sleep. I'm awake now."

"Mulder kicked you out?"

Krycek frowned, eyed him narrowly. Walter hadn't meant to   
say that. It was a distinct relief when the younger man   
simply snorted and shook his head. 

"I shoulda known you'd know about that.... You're a player,   
too. Or were. I'm curious, though..."

"Yes?"

Walter really didn't want to be having this conversation,   
but just beyond the unpleasant focus of Mulder getting   
fucked with apparent regularity by Krycek was that beige-  
on-beige-on-beige slice of hell his subconscious apparently   
identified with drug- induced sleep.

"How did you know?"

"He's been walking around with this permanent look of....   
of smug satisfaction and guilt for about 4 months now.   
Scully's fingers twitch when I call them in for briefings."

Krycek put his head in his hands and shook with that brand   
of stifled laughter that only the very private and   
deceitful can produce. There was a definite edge of   
hysteria to it, and it lasted long enough that Walter   
couldn't entirely convince himself that it was merely his   
own fractured time sense that was turning the minutes to   
taffy. Finally, finally, Krycek looked up at him again.   
The thick lashes were damp; the smile, rueful.

"Yeah, that's Mulder, all right. My Fox. You seem far too   
calm for this, even for the drugs."

"Which of you am I supposed to be angry at, Krycek?"

Quirk of finely turned eyebrow and Walter remembered what   
it had been like to run his tongue over it after they'd   
fucked; remembered Alex's shameless giggle.

//Alex. He'd been Alex, then.// 

But his words had earned him a momentarily unguarded look   
of speculation, shuttered quickly as he flowed to a stand,   
and looked up into Walter's face. 

"I'm not here to hurt you, you know. You don't have to try   
to flatter me."

"Why are you here, again?"

"Just needed a place to stay... that didn't have a Mulder.   
Why didn't you ever fuck him, anyway?"

Walter laughed, then. Long, loud, and helplessly. Krycek   
looked bitter but merely cocked his head to the side,   
patiently. Moved a little further into the older man's   
unprotected personal space and damned if he didn't smell   
the same.... Shift and *now* he was swaying and it was that   
first time...

But not the *real* first time, just the first time his   
favorite little rentboy had shown up, freshly scrubbed and   
legal, in his office. He'd had a solid thirty minutes to   
calm down from the incipient heart attack that had   
threatened upon viewing the picture in the file, but   
still...

"Come on back, Waaaalterrr..."

"Do you have any idea how irritating that is?" His eyes   
swam back into focus, into the beam of the world's sexiest   
smirk. "Strike that, of course you do. You always did." The   
smirk faltered. Only a little, but it was worth it.

"Tell me why. I know he wants you. Says he has to beat off   
every time you growl at him." 

The bitterness, oddly enough, was... muted.

"Why do you care, Krycek?"

"You have something better to do than explain it to me?   
While you're hanging from the ceiling, that is." Walter was   
still being assaulted by the almost-too-sweet scent that   
was Krycek without the leather.

"You could just suck me off. I always did like your mouth."

Krycek snorted again, grabbed Walter by the crotch.

"I really, really don't think the Ambien agreed with you,   
*sir*."

Walter had to smile a little ruefully. "I suppose not."

"*Tell* me." 

In just the same husky whine that used to belong --   
exclusively, he'd thought -- to "Please let me come, sir."

Of course, the 'sirs' had never been entirely convincing.   
Krycek had the air of someone who desperately wanted to be   
a sub but could never quite pull it off. All he had was a   
basic laziness when it came to interpersonal   
relationships, a desire to let someone else handle it, for   
a while, until he'd stored up enough energy to rip the   
unlucky top's soul out for the offense of taking up the   
insincere request.

Walter had understood it from the moment Krycek had walked   
into the office. The knowledge made the eventual discovery   
of the younger man's true loyalties, if not especially   
comfortable -- there remained, always, the threat of   
tapes, somewhere -- then at least not as world-shattering   
as it could have been. You fuck a liar, you underestimate   
him, you get what you deserve. None of the above, however,   
made the voice any less pleasant to listen to. Any easier   
to deny. 

"Cabin Boy Syndrome, Krycek."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Those old pirate books for boys.... The captain always had   
some annoyingly plucky and nosy little kid hanging about to   
be a 'valet.'"

"I always assumed the kids were fucktoys in tights."

"Knickers? Anyway. That goes without saying. *However*,   
even taking the sex into account, they were always getting   
into so much trouble. And rarely ever even being flogged   
for it."

Some part of his brain had, apparently, found its own sick   
little rhythm to follow. Walter really didn't have it in   
him to censor at this point. A stirring, oddly   
disconnected, and he looked down to discover Krycek's hand   
had never left the front of his boxers. Perhaps an attempt   
to wake up the sleeper. The warmth was definitely   
appreciated. He realized he was still talking:

"... reason for it. I mean, why didn't the captains ever   
run the little bastards through?"

Krycek looked like he was just that close to more   
hysterical giggles. Walter had a moment to appreciate the   
fact he'd managed to share the surrealism of his   
experience, somehow.

"It had to be some reason other than the sex and occasional   
flogging, you're saying."

Walter nodded, felt another shift -- much less pleasant, he   
was sobering -- and he was back in the office.

"The way I see it. *sir*, it behooves both of us to keep   
our mouths shut."

"You're not telling me anything I don't already know, bo--   
Krycek."

"Of course not." Sleek and smooth as the obscenity of gel   
that had been his hair. "On the other hand, I wouldn't be   
averse to continuing our... arrangement. Sir."

"The government already pays you a salary, I'm not   
subsidizing you anymore." He'd thought it was a sleazy   
little attempt at blackmail, began stockpiling his internal   
treasury of markers, but...

"I don't want your money. Sir."

And so it had continued, another few months of motels and,   
God help him, the office. Alex on his knees. Alex bent over   
something, anything. Alex's pretty little ass swollen and   
pink from his hand....

"Waaaalterrr..."

Krycek was rubbing him off. It was definitely starting to   
work. There was want in those wide, wide eyes, and a wealth   
of memory. 

"Those boys, Alex..."

As expected, the use of the first name earned him an   
affectionate little squeeze. 

"Yeah?"

"They had something. Fairy princes, perhaps. In any case,   
they wrapped those sea captains right around their soft   
little fingers..." And the strong, clever fingers were   
making him harder and harder. "... some measure of   
psychological witchcraft. Emotional fuckery. Something.   
Apple-cheeked vortexes of need and obsession.

"Mulder has the Syndrome."

//My. I *am* delusional.

//Stoned. Just, stoned.//

Alex was silent, kneading him steadily, eyeing him   
thoughtfully.

"You really believe that?"

"What about you? You're here by choice. He didn't kick you   
out, you ran away."

Alex finally pulled away, settled himself back on the bed   
with one absent lap at his own hand. The loss of heat was   
more than a little upsetting. 

"Cabin boys. Fairy princes."

"Yes."

"There's a joke in there, somewhere." 

"Probably several."

"But it's too fucking true." Alex sighed, an unconscious   
act of -- perhaps perfectly justifiable -- melodrama. 

"Well, you did ask why I never got involved with him. I   
spent 17 years married to a beautiful, brilliant, needy,   
paranoid psycho. Mind you, I certainly gave her reason to   
be all of those things..." Small sound of amusement from   
the bed and Walter couldn't help but feel a moment of   
kinship. "But I didn't -- and still don't -- need another   
one. As relationships go, our little... arrangement... was   
probably healthier. In the long run."

"You still want him, though."

It wasn't a question, Walter didn't bother to answer.

"Fine. *Do* you want him?"

"Are you trying to hand the man off?"

Alex gave every impression of thinking the question over   
seriously, but Walter thought he knew the answer already.   
"You couldn't if you tried. You need it now."

Sour little glance and Alex flopped back onto the bed. "It   
wasn't so bad at first, you know."

"I'd be more amenable to conversation if you unchained me,   
I think."

A snort. "Always about your needs, isn't it?" But Alex was   
flowing off the bed again, producing a key from God knows   
where and Walter's arms were falling with an undignified   
thud. "Please don't try anything, I'm too tired to do   
anything but shoot you dead."

"You should probably sleep more, then."

"That's it, no more drugs for you. Here, where do you want   
to sit? The chair?" None too subtle glance at his   
burgeoning erection. "The bed?"

"Chair's fine for now, Alex." "Anything you say, sir." It   
was, as always, far more convincing when the younger man   
was conscious of his own self-mockery. Alex helped him to   
the wingback in the corner, the swell and roll of the   
carpeting making him wonder just where his own cabin boy   
was. The loss of altitude upon sitting made the world a lot   
more sensible, though.

"Now you were saying?"

"Would you like a drink? Water or something else safe.   
Drinking alcohol would probably be a profoundly bad idea   
for you. For me, now..."

Alex was less asking than babbling to himself. "Get me some   
water. Get yourself some Scotch."

The younger man nodded absently and Walter drifted off to   
the sounds of cabinets opening and closing around the   
apartment, a lone car alarm far, far below. A mouth on his   
cock, oddly cool yet... burning? Walter looked down to   
find Alex on his knees, a vision that had never once lost   
its appeal. He was holding a tumbler half-emptied of   
scotch on the rocks just to the side, and lapping and   
sucking. Walter decided that anything that allowed him to   
just settle back and *enjoy* being blown, with a bare   
minimum of the urgency, was a good thing. 

"You really like waking me up, don't you?"

Flat-tongued rasp along the underside and Alex was   
standing, setting the scotch on the dresser to retrieve the   
older man's water. A shrug while Walter sipped, a casual   
and none-too-thorough attempt to slip the older man's   
erection away.

"You know how it is.... Take your joys where you can find   
them."

Walter nodded, shrugged. "You're just stalling because you   
don't want to talk about Mulder."

"Can't a man suck cock without an ulterior motive?"

Walter chuckled a lot more lazily than he intended to, but   
the effect was pleasant. "Not if he's you."

A twist that, on any other mouth, would be unpleasant and   
Alex was settling himself at his feet with scotch firmly in   
hand. Walter could see the bottle settled evenly on the   
floor beside the younger man. He had a strong urge to pet   
the softly spiky hair and he indulged. Alex twisted around   
to smirk again, but it was gentle, and the touch was   
allowed.

Comfortable silence while Walter was reminded that even   
something as prosaically unpleasant as pins and needles   
could gain charm when stoned.... It had been a long time.   
Gradually, he became aware of his companion's voice,   
paradoxically softened by the liquor.

"... -ing wonderful at first. Couldn't believe it. All I   
had to do was get a hand on his cock one of those times he   
was pummeling me and it was all over. Clawing and biting at   
me. Sucking me down. You know, I had to tear him off?   
Thought I was gonna lose something important.

"Makes sense, though. All that time he spends shouting   
absurdities, throwing himself against brick walls.... He   
had to be waiting for someone to stop him."

Walter nodded, dimly aware that Alex couldn't possibly see   
him, knowing it didn't really matter at this point. He   
could never quite pull his fingers from that dark hair.

"Then there was the first time he hit me. Well, obviously   
not the first time, but the first time after we'd...   
started fucking is both crude and inaccurate. Started a   
relationship? Optimistic, but yeah, that's how I thought   
of it, then."

"I never would've considered you the romantic type, Alex."

"Yeah, well, this was supposed to be different. You'd   
think, being with someone like Mulder, *everything* would   
be different."

"Understood. Different is, of course, not always better."

"No need to make me feel twelve, Walter." Soft, musical   
tinkle of liquor over ice. 

"Sorry, habit once you work for the government for any   
length of time." Walter could almost feel the smirk.   
"The... legitimate... government." Brief nod and the finely   
shaped skull was moving, his fingers flowing through the   
pelt of an animal who'd condescended to taming. "But,   
Alex..."

"Yeah?"

"One benefit of a relationship with a man is that when he   
hits you, no one is going to bitch and moan if you hit him   
right back."

Full blown cackle. "Think that through. Just what do you   
think Mulder did once I hit him back, I mean really hit   
him?"

"Hmmm... I can think of several possibilities. None of them   
especially pleasant."

"The look of utter shock right afterward almost made the   
screaming fit worth it. Our very first argument entirely   
free of sexual tension. He kicked me out *that* night."

A long pause and Walter could feel Alex shifting a bit,   
finally settling his head on his thigh. It was at that   
point that Walter looked down and realized what a dissolute   
picture he made. Sprawled

//I wasn't made to sprawl.//

low and spread-legged, boxers gaping over a semi-hard. It   
made the unreality slam home in a way that unreality   
shouldn't be allowed to do. Abruptly, Walter saw himself   
inviting the other man up into his lap, perhaps pulling   
him close to take in one flat nipple, suck and bite until   
that hand pulled him close, work his cock between   
conveniently nude cheeks....

He settled for grunting in a vaguely sympathetic manner.

"Anyway, it didn't take long for him to set his own   
personal little freak squad on my trail. Tracked me down   
with a new bag of tricks. 'We'll work out the aggression   
in a structured, safe way, Alex,' he said.

"This is where that 'vortex of need' thing came in."

"I would think so, yes." Walter let his knuckles drift down   
along one elegant cheekbone, was gratified by the casual   
welcome of a nuzzle he was given.

"Never once used the safeword. Ever."

"He wouldn't, no."

Alex got up, then, and walked in that consciously steady   
way the very drunk have to put the vastly depleted bottle   
away. Walter resisted the urge to grab the younger man by   
the waistband of his jeans and yank him back.

//Not like he'd be able to keep his balance at this point.

//Neither can you.//

He did his best to straighten up a bit, gave up when Alex   
positively prowled back into the room. Walter took in the   
outfit for the first time. Alex was wearing -- and rumpling   
\-- one of his dress shirts over jeans. Several buttons   
were undone. The eyes were burning at him. The bulge was   
noticeable. Despite the aborted blowjob earlier, this was   
the first time Walter was absolutely positive of what   
would happen. Just as soon as the world stopped swaying. 

A blink and Alex was leaning over him and a liquor-smoked   
tongue was familiarizing itself with his mouth. Drinking   
him for a long moment of slow-burning lust before pulling   
off again, pulling him up -- an experience not nearly as   
disorienting as he'd expected -- and pulling him over to   
the bed. The gentle shove that sent him to his back on the   
coverlet was welcome, and he propped himself on his elbows   
with relative ease. 

Slow and sadly awkward crawl up along his body and there   
was the *real* first time, anonymous motel and dirty money   
and all. Echoes were nothing but the ghosts of sound,   
though, and the flesh under the fabric was warm and needful   
of no one but him, for once, for real.

Hazy strip and Walter took in the changes to the form.   
Leaner, darker, scarred. Lovely. He indulged himself in the   
musk of an armpit, the salt pool of the navel. There was   
no point in musing on the assorted problems in this action.   
Alex was here, now, and it had been too long. 

"When did he stop making love to you?"

"Unngh... don't stop, Walter. And don't make me be   
rational."

The older man tugged at the darkly golden hairs leading   
down under the jeans, smiled into jumping flesh. "I'll   
settle for a ramble, Alex."

Drunken giggle and Alex was doing his futile best to catch   
him by the limited hair at his nape, tug him down and down.   
"Shit... I forgot what a fucking sadist you were. Ummm....   
had to be right after the first time I flogged him to the   
point of tears...." Walter undid the jeans. "Then I... I   
pushed him... to his knees and fucked his face. Do... do   
*not* stop doing that." 

Walter pulled off with a light kiss for the straining   
flesh. "Jesus, Alex, even I was never that..."

The younger man groaned, let his head fall back to the   
pillow with a thud. "Yeah, well, I was never built for this   
shit, Walter. You *know* that."

Walter nodded, nuzzled the tightening sac. "So what   
happened when you told *him* that?" The vibrations of his   
voice made Alex buck and Walter wondered how the hell he'd   
ever lived without this.

"What, you think... you think I didn't?" Breathy and   
hoarse. Beautiful.

"I didn't say that, Alex..."

"Shit, I know, lick me some more.... I'll tell, I'll tell."   
Walter looked up and smiled, by chance Alex caught it,   
returned it in spades. "You're a voyeur, you know it?"

Walter caught the bobbing cock by the base, squeezed Alex   
into another buck. "Good thing you're an exhibitionist,   
hmm?"

"Yeah... yeah..."

Walter set about bathing the other man's balls with his   
tongue while setting a slow, even pace with his strokes.   
"Answer the question." The hips gained a sea roll... and   
that was just fine for this night. 

"Question.... question..." Alex's hand had made its way   
down to twine itself with his own, warm and slick. Walter   
had a moment to wonder if hands, given the opportunity,   
would have lives of their own, and then that lust-  
roughened voice was beginning again. "Oh, yeah... what   
happened... What would you have done... if I'd stripped   
naked in your office one day and... wriggled onto your   
lap? While you were... on the phone so you couldn't do a   
thing about it? Whispered, begged you to hurt me, spank me,   
fuck me?" 

The words were tortured and harsh and went straight to the   
older man's cock and he did his best to return the favor,   
lifting up the sac to go just a little further back...

"Yes! Please..."

A few firm strokes of the tongue along the perineum and   
Walter pulled back again, never releasing his hold on   
Alex's cock. He wasn't sure his hand would obey him if he   
tried to make it do so, anyway... The hot, heavy solidity   
of the thing was both welcome and addictive.

"It's... possible... that I would've pushed you off as soon   
as I could've hung up the phone. Ordered you to leave.   
Found some way to torture you later on..."

Alex leaned up on his elbow and eyed Walter with unalloyed   
skepticism. 

"Entirely possible. If I'd had my genitals removed earlier   
in the day."

"Exactly. Now lick me some more."

Walter snorted. "Yes, *sir*. But..."

An exaggerated groan. "Wha-a-a-a-at?"

He grinned as wickedly as he knew how. "Tell me more."

"You're not even going to pretend to have anything but the   
most prurient of interest in this, anymore, are you?"

"Well, how much bullshit can one relationship stand?"

"Good point. You lick, I'll talk."

Walter pushed Alex's knees up and apart and began to work   
his tongue in gradually tightening circles around the bud   
of the younger man's entrance. The sobbing gasps from the   
head of the bed suggested Alex might not be able to keep up   
his end of the bargain, but they gradually resolved into   
words.

"It... it never stopped, Walter. I swear... oh God, more...   
every fucking day it was 'F-fuck me, whip me, need me need   
me need me'.... Don't stop..."

"I won't."

As expected, the low growl against the sensitive flesh made   
Alex cry out. Walter wasn't sure how much longer he could   
drag this out. "Keep talking." As incentive, he began to   
tonguefuck the younger man steadily. More curses,   
shudders. Walter had to wrap his forearms around the leanly   
muscled thighs to keep Alex still.

"The only... t-time he'd ever t-touch me was to provoke me   
to hit him. We never... we never talk anymore. See, that's   
where your... theory-- Jesus, don't stop--"

"Just getting a few things we need, Alex." The younger   
man's pupils were almost completely dilated. As expected,   
it was impossible to disentangle his hand from Alex's, so   
Walter simply stretched to the bedside table. 

The condoms were of questionable age, but he couldn't bring   
himself to care. Gloved and slicked he turned his full   
attention to the flushed length of man laid out before   
him...

"About my theory?" 

... and began to work in lubed fingers. It was even harder   
to keep control now that he could watch the flush get ever   
deeper, the sinfully thick lashes flutter, the lips part   
with Alex's moans...

//What the hell was Mulder *thinking*?//

"Mmm, yeah.... More. Basically, we were... were wrong about   
the fucktoy thing." 

The uneven rise and fall of the chest a perfect reflection   
of the voice sliding up and down the scale.... Walter   
added another finger, scissor twist and Alex was bucking   
and screaming again.

"How so?"

"It's just... just... Oh, God, Walter *please*... and we'll   
worry about the irony l-later, I swear!"

It's damned near impossible to refuse a request like that.   
Walter fitted himself against Alex, laid the quivering   
thighs along his own and rocked his way in, eyes shut   
tight against the near- unbearable heat. Finally, sheathed   
in Alex, Walter leaned in for a kiss, lapping and sucking   
at the other man's tongue, reaching between them to stroke   
the mildly wilting cock back to hardness. When he could   
feel Alex bucking back against him he kneeled up again,   
looking down into eyes that managed to smile through the   
haze of lust.

It was easily the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. 

He pulled out slow, thrust in hard. Through the flares of   
his own vision he watched the elegant throat arch into a   
bow, reached out to run a finger along the sharply defined   
curve.

"So... what you're saying is that... the cabin boys weren't   
the real fucktoys, after all?"

Alex tightened his thighs around Walter and bore down hard.   
"The captains, Walter. Always the captains."

The only possible response to that was to let his hips take   
over and lose himself in the feel -- missed far more than   
he'd allowed himself to admit -- of Alex, slick in his   
hand, tight on his cock, a litany of pleas and curses   
falling on his ears. And when Alex reached up and pulled   
him down and down into another kiss nothing else mattered   
at all but the hot splash on his chest and belly, the   
muffled cry against his tongue that sounded suspiciously   
like his name, and the rhythm of his own hips pulling him   
back to somewhere like home.

*****

Walter woke up to find himself draped, stickily and   
marvelously, with an Alex planting soft kisses along the   
center of his chest. It made his throat ache, and he pulled   
the younger man closer. He had to ask, though.

"What about Mulder?"

Alex stopped kissing and banged his forehead once, twice,   
lightly against Walter. "Can we pretend he doesn't exist   
this..." Brief glance toward the fully shuttered window.   
"... morning?"

Walter ran his hand along Alex's spine, trying not to pay   
attention to the twitch in his nether regions when Alex   
arched into the touch. "We can, but--"

"He needs to be dealt with, I know." Alex snuggled closer,   
trailed kisses along Walter's jawline. "Just... just later,   
OK?"

"I can live with that."

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~


End file.
